Forgetting to Breathe
by breannatala
Summary: ONESHOT Harry's been having visions lately, but he can't get the images out of his head. He decides to talk to someone who might understand the cruelness that is Voldemort: Snape. A oneshot from 7th year, but there is no HBP.


**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

**A/N: I get random ideas for oneshots while in classes. There must be _something_ about sitting in a lecture hall that gets your creativeness out. Or, perhaps I was just too bored.

* * *

**

Harry Potter stood in front of Snape's desk. He wasn't sure why, exactly. In fact, he figured it was a pretty stupid thing to do, but he had to know. He _had_ to know if someone understood how he was feeling, and, unfortunately, Snape was the only person he knew who had any chance of understanding. Everyone else was too far removed, no matter how deep they were in the war.

Snape ignored Harry, which was fine for him at the moment. He didn't exactly know what he was going to say, so the pretending Harry wasn't there wasn't going to hurt. It's not like he had class; he had a free period, and he was sure that Snape did too. Harry, distressed as he had been lately, was perfect content to wait for Snape to 'notice' he was standing there.

On a second thought, Harry decided to sit down, in the front row. After all, he might as well make himself comfortable, since Snape did nothing more but either ignore his existence (which is what happened most of the time), or was criticizing something or other about him. The more he thought about it, though, he wondered if he _should_ be asking Snape. The longer he sat there, the worse he felt about this entire thing.

"What is it, Potter?" Snape asked harshly, startling Harry out of his doubtful thoughts. Harry didn't answer, taking the time to collect his thoughts. "Well? If you are just going to stand there, I will take points." _Sarcastic bastard, as usual_, thought Harry. Uncertain about how to start, Harry just spoke what was on his mind.

"Have you ever stopped breathing, then realized that you forgot how to start again?" Harry asked quietly. So quietly, in fact, he was sure that Snape didn't hear him. Until the evil man answered, that is.

"Potter, breathing is an automatic function of the body. The only way you would be able to stop breathing is if you were somehow prevented doing so. It is not something that you can _forget_."

Harry couldn't do much but glare as an answer to that. Snape_ had_ to know what he was talking about. He was _at_ those meetings before. The man had been on the receiving end of the torture at those meetings before. Was he honestly just that cold that he felt absolutely _nothing_?

"How did you handle it? The pain, the inability to _do_ anything?" Harry asked, many of the questions in his head merging into an strings of words that didn't make much sense unless you knew what he was thinking. A flash in his professor's eyes said that the man understood what he was saying, though, so what he said next didn't hurt as much.

"If you are finished making nonsensical comments, do take a leave before Gryffindor is down ten more points," Snape warned, and Harry pushed it aside.

"Professor," Harry started, then stopped. He did not know how to word this without it sounding as if he were begging. "I can't get the images out of my head. I've tried to occlude, tried to clear my head, but it doesn't help the images. Dumbledore can't even get into my head, now, and they won't stop!" Harry ended on a near hysterical note, and he noticed that Snape looked at him carefully. _So much for staying calm_, he thought. He was honestly thinking about just leaving, just forgetting the entire encounter.

"Perhaps we should continue this in my office," Snape said shortly, and Harry followed the potions master out of the classroom and into the office. He hadn't been back there since that incident in his fifth year, with the pensieve, and Harry was rather reluctant to enter it again. If something happened . . .

But he followed his professor in and sat down where the man indicated. The chair also brought back memories, but Harry pushed the thought out of his head.

"What do you mean when you say that you 'can't get the images out of your head'? Does the Dark Lord send you images?" Snape asked, still harsh, but something else in his voice. Not concern, definitely. More along the lines of . . . general interest. He was surprised, though, that Dumbledore hadn't said anything. How else would the old man explain where he was getting his information from? He knew that Dumbledore was using the information, and that it was accurate . . . so why not say anything?

Harry shook his head in response.

"No. He can't send me anything false, although I'm not sure if he's tried recently. No, somehow I get stuck in his head when I sleep, and I can't stop it," Harry said, rambling. He didn't care, though. He was going to ramble on until Snape forced him to stop, since the man was listening now.

"Does the Headmaster know?" Snape asked sharply.

"Of course," Harry said, trying to stifle a yawn. Thinking about the previous night, he suddenly got extremely tired. Harry knew there was going to be a 'party', and Harry really didn't want to be asleep for it, because that would mean he would have viewed it all from Voldemort's eyes, and he _really_ didn't want to witness it. It's not like he'd learn anything important, so he got the house elves to keep supplying him with coffee . . . with a lot of cream and sugar, since he hated the taste of coffee. Nothing else help him stay awake, and Hermione had officially declared him a coffee addict, he drank so much of it. Not even Pepper-Up potion worked that well, much to his distress.

"So . . . you see meetings," Snape prompted, and Harry was glad. At least someone was keeping the conversation straight. Harry was so tired, his mind was taking odd turns when he was trying to keep his thoughts straight.

"Meetings, yes," Harry said. "And random conversations. There's really no pattern. Just . . . whenever he's in a heightened mood of some sort, like angry or happy or . . . yeah. And I'm asleep."

"Did you sleep last night?"

"No," Harry answered. "Didn't want to," was his explanation

"Which would explain why you couldn't brew a potion that most sixth years, even you, are able to brew perfectly," Snape said flatly, talking about the review potion they brewed today, in preparation for a more difficult potion in two days. Harry didn't respond more than issuing a glare across the desk. _At least he'd not taking points_, thought Harry, _but he could at least be nice_. Harry nearly started laughing at that thought. Snape? Nice? Not likely.

"I suggest you go to the hospital wing and sleep; take the rest of the day off. There's less chance of there being any meeting at this time of day," Snape continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Harry started giggling silently. Or, perhaps, that was the reason why he suggested Harry take a nap. He was surely tired enough to do so.

"But what about the _images_," Harry countered. "I want to get what happens _out_ of my head. A pensieve helps a little, but I still _remember _them."

"That, Potter, I cannot help you with," Snape said, looking away. "I cannot help myself with that. You will simply have to learn how to manage with them in your head."

"Yeah, but you weren't _him_ at those meetings," Harry retorted. "You weren't _him_, laughing and torturing like he was. I _was_."

Snape still refused to look at Harry, which angered Harry.

"Isn't there _something_ I can do?" Harry asked, desperate.

"A memory charm would be all that would help. Or therapy," suggested Snape. "I would suggest therapy over a memory charm, as too many memory charms would be dangerous, and you would still most likely dream of the occurrences. Now, I do suggest you leave. Go to the hospital wing, as for dreamless sleep, or just go to your dorm, but I have a meeting with the headmaster, and I would rather not be late." Snape started out _almost_ nice at the beginning of his talk, but ended in a very irritated growl, so Harry got up and decided to leave. _Snape sure has a lot of mood swings_, Harry thought, thinking that Snape should be the one in therapy. Of course, since he was the one who suggested it, perhaps the man did have therapy before.

Feeling slightly better because someone, although rude about it, understood what he was talking about, Harry headed for the door.

"Potter?" Snape asked, and Harry turned around to face his professor. "This doesn't change _anything_. At all. Understand?" Harry nodded, then left the room, closing the classroom door behind him. Making a last minute decision, Harry walked to the Hospital Wing slowly, with the intent of talking to Madam Pomfrey. Perhaps she'd know what to do.

But Snape was wrong. It did change something. Once again, he felt as if he could breathe. It was a nice feeling, even if he still had much to do about the images. He had remembered how to breathe, and at the moment, that was what mattered.


End file.
